


Home Is Where You Are

by sanctuary_for_all



Series: Home and Family [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Healing, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-19 03:59:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 11,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1454572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanctuary_for_all/pseuds/sanctuary_for_all
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You look at him like he's home, and you're trying like hell to figure out how to get back to it." </p><p>***Spoilers for "Captain America: The Winter Soldier"***</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'd Follow You

The one problem with bringing down a corrupt intelligence organization is that you lost all its technology when you needed to track someone. Hill helped where she could, using the Stark resources she’d so recently gotten access to, but as far as they could tell Bucky had fallen off the map. Odds were that he wasn’t even in the country anymore.

But if they couldn’t track him now, they could follow where he’d been. Though the initial surgery and memory wipe had been in Russia, Bucky had been based out of the U.S. for the last 60 or so years. Steve and Sam followed every lead, added a whole roster of scientists to the congressional hearings, and confirmed every painful fact that had been in the file.

In the darker moments, Steve wished Pierce and Dr. Zola were still alive. Neither of them had paid enough for what they’d done. 

It was embarrassing how long it took them to realize they were being followed. At first they thought it was HYDRA looking for a little revenge, but the expected attack never came. There was just someone watching them.

Steve wanted to believe more than anything that Bucky had found him. He left the file out on the table one night, hoping, and when he woke up the next morning it was at a slightly different angle.

It wasn’t much. But it was all the sign he needed.

“You sure about this?” Sam leaned forward across the diner’s table, concern radiating out of every line of his face. “He tried to kill you last time."

"And then he saved me.” Steve knew there was no way he could have made it to shore alone. On top of that, the 911 call Hill intercepted was from a woman who said a strange man had told her where Steve's location was.

Bucky was still in there somewhere. And Steve would do whatever it took to get him back. “Trust me, Sam. I know what I'm doing."

Sam’s brow lowered. "You, I have no problem trusting. Him, not so much."

Steve put on his best cheerfully cocky expression. "He hasn't shot at us yet, has he?"

Sam sighed. "I'll give you that one." He took a sip of his coffee, still looking concerned. "Just be careful, okay? And give me a call when this is all done, however it ends up shaking out."

"I will, I promise." Steve leaned back, still ignoring his own cup. “Call me if you run into trouble.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Or, you know, just in case I want to say hi.”

Steve smiled at the man who had so quickly become his friend. "Thank you. For everything."

Sam huffed. "Don't tell me that. That's the kind of crap people say when they're saying goodbye." He gave Steve a pointed look. "What you're supposed to say here is 'I'll see you later.'"

Steve’s smile widened. "I'll see you later."

"Damn right you will."

000

Tactically, the bench was the worst possible place to wait. There was no cover, no good sight lines when it was dark like this and at least a dozen places a sniper could get a perfect aim on him. That Steve wasn’t armed only made it worse, even his shield waiting patiently for him back in the motel room.

He waited like that for an hour, a faint breeze blowing and only the sound of distant vehicles breaking the silence. The fact that he wasn’t dead yet had technically proven his point, but it wasn’t enough. Now that he knew Bucky was alive, simply knowing he was out there would never be enough.

Finally, he heard quiet footsteps coming up behind him. “You’re waiting for me.”

The words were soft, questioning, and Steve closed his eyes as something hard and cold in his chest wrenched loose for the first time in what felt like forever. “I’ve been waiting for you a very long time, Buck.”

Even though he couldn’t see him, he could practically feel the other man flinch. “Don’t call me that.”

The words stung, but this fight mattered far too much to care about such a simple hit. “Okay.” Steve opened his eyes, ignoring the fact that they were wet. “Can I call you James, then?”

Bucky didn’t respond, but the silence also made it clear that he also didn’t leave. “I went to the Smithsonian,” he said finally, sounding lost. Steve ached for him. “I wanted … intel. On you. And…” He stopped, tried again. “And I saw….”

“You,” Steve finished quietly.

“Yeah.” Bucky’s voice cracked.

It took an immense physical effort for Steve to stay still when his entire body demanded to get up and hug his best friend. He resisted – he’d never forgive himself if he scared Bucky off – but the strain showed in his voice. “Do you remember any of it?”

More silence. “I keep getting … bits. Sketches that weren’t in the exhibit.”

Steve’s fingers curled into his legs, gripping tight. “You always saw all my stuff, even if no one else did.”

There was an inhaled breath. “Some kind of funeral. I think … I think I held your hand.”

“My mom’s.” Steve had to close his eyes again, his voice scratchy. “You were right next to me the whole time.”

There was a sound that might have been a laugh if it wasn’t so heartbroken and wild. “You.” The word was ragged. “I hear the name ‘James Barnes’ and don’t feel a damn thing. It could be a stranger they’re talking about. But when I close my eyes, I can hear the sound of your voice saying ‘Bucky’ a thousand different ways.”

Tears were streaming down Steve’s face by this point. He didn’t care. “Sit down,” he whispered. “Please.”

The silence stretched on too long this time, but then Steve heard the quiet sound of footsteps coming around the bench. He opened his eyes, but Bucky didn’t sit down. “You would have let me kill you,” he said instead, sounding almost angry. “You took on an entire HYDRA weapons facility on your own, and you would have just laid there and let me kill you.”

Heart hammering in his chest, Steve looked on the man he would always, always take on the world for. “That weapons facility. Why do you think I was there?”

Bucky’s expression made it clear how ridiculous he thought the question was. “You were sent on a mission.”

Steve shook his head. “No matter what the Smithsonian exhibit says, they only saw me as a trained monkey back then. They would have court martialed me if they’d caught me.”

Bucky’s breathing sped up. “You’re a hero. There were a lot of people to save.”

“And I saved them, because I was already there and it would have been wrong not to.” Steve swallowed, his gaze still locked with Bucky’s. “But there was only one person I was there for.”

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut. “Don’t tell me that.”

Steve swiped a hand across his cheeks. “It’s the truth.” His voice cracked. “I’d follow you into hell if I thought I had a chance of dragging you out.”

There was just enough light to see the tear slide down Bucky’s own cheek. “Stop.”

“I can’t.” No longer able to hold back, Steve pushed himself to his feet and wrapped his arms around his best friend. “I’ll do anything else in the world for you, but not that.”

Bucky’s body was stiff, so still that Steve could hardly hear him breathing, then sagged as if he was giving up some kind of fight. Slowly, his arms came up to wrap around Steve, holding on just as hard. “You’re the only thing in my head that isn’t blood and death.”

Steve tightened his arms around his best friend. It had been long enough he wasn’t sure he could make himself let go. “We’ll find the rest of you.”

Bucky pulled away enough to look up at him. “What if we can’t?” he rasped. “What if this is all that’s left?”

Steve dragged him close again, and this time Bucky didn’t resist. “Then that’ll be enough for me,” Steve murmured, the words a vow. “I’ll take however much of you I can get.”

“You shouldn’t trust anything about me.” This time, it was Bucky’s arms that tightened around him. “It’s safer for you if I go.”

“Don’t.” Steve’s voice was rough as he pressed his face against the other man’s hair. “Don’t make me lose you again.”

Bucky didn’t respond, but he didn’t let go, either. “I watched you sleep. In the hospital,” he said finally, the words so quiet they could barely be heard. “It felt like I’d done it before.” Steve nodded without lifting his head, not sure he could trust his voice, and he felt Bucky’s fingers curl in his shirt. “Okay,” he whispered. “To the end of the line, then.”

Steve’s heart felt like it no longer fit in his chest. “To the end of the line.”


	2. Feel Again

Bucky couldn’t begin to describe what it was like to _feel_ again.

When he'd been the asset, there was nothing – no fear, no hate, not even something simple like satisfaction. They'd made him into a robot, stripping away everything that might stop him from being good at killing people. His only focus, his only purpose, was to complete the mission.

But during the fight on the helicarrier, he kept not quite killing his latest target. The line of the man's jaw, the look in his eyes, would strike something primal in the back of his brain and make his hand move without him. He would punch where the shield could easily intercept, not quite as much force behind it as he knew he was capable of. He would shoot him, but never in an immediately fatal area. He was a painfully efficient killer, neither cruel nor merciful, but for the first time he couldn't make himself do the thing he existed to do.

That wasn't all. There had been a pressure in his chest, a vise around his lungs that made it hard to breathe, and as the fight continued both became steadily worse. Then the target stopped fighting, had even helped him, and the pressure turned hot enough to burn. He was cold at the same time, ice deep beneath the heat, making him shiver somewhere below the skin. Every word out of the target's mouth made it worse. A part of him wanted nothing more than to make it stop, but another part of him wanted nothing more than to give into it.

_You know me._

_No, I don't!_

Something was wrong, far worse than a man out of place or a target that had slipped away. The fact that the target had stopped fighting was wrong, and it made him want to punch something completely without purpose. Then the other man dropped his shield, the only weapon he ever seemed to carry, and somehow that was a thousand times worse.

He thought he could hear a sound in the back of his head that sounded faintly like screaming.

_You're my friend._

_You're my mission._

The target was still talking. He should have stopped him – he never wanted him to stop – and he hesitated. Then came the words that reached inside the robot and ripped through him like knives.

_Finish it, then._

The cold washed through him, and his gut twisted hard enough that he tasted acid in the back of his throat. His metal shoulder locked, arm frozen in midswing as if his entire body refused to continue hurting the man in front of him.

_I'm with you to the end of the line._

There was a terrible disorienting feeling, like the world had fallen away. He felt sunlight, suddenly, smelled dust and a scent he didn't recognize, and something in the middle of his chest ached like it had been injured.

He'd needed this man to be safe, to stop being in pain. He'd needed him close.

He'd _mattered_ , so much more than any mission.

Then the target had fallen, plunging into the river, and it had almost been a relief to have a new set of tasks to focus on. But there had been no escape from the memory of the man's face – _Steve_ , something inside him whispered – or the need to keep him safe.

In the days that followed, more images flooded in. Some of it was violence, the victims unfamiliar but always done by the hands he knew all too well. Anything that wasn't bloody seemed to have Steve's face in it, and even if he had no idea what was going on it made his chest feel light and warm in a way that felt oddly familiar. Even when seeing his own face had been a shock, he'd soaked in every detail of Steve Rogers' life like a dehydrated man who had finally found water.

It was almost a week before the words he needed started to come to him. Fear. Anger. Happiness. He matched them with the sensations like puzzle pieces, not at all surprised when all the good words connected to the moments with Steve's face in them. He'd started following Steve, wanting to understand, and the other man left his file out like a gift. It had helped him to understand himself, the enormous gaps between the bits of reality his brain so desperately clung to. But it didn't stop him from needing those pieces. From needing Steve, even though he didn't entirely understand why.

Then Steve had wrapped his arms around him, and understanding had stopped mattering quite so much. More memories came, little fragments of a life, all of the ones he wanted just as full of Steve as all the others had been. He started to think of himself as Bucky, because he didn't really have a name before and James still didn't feel like more than a casual acquaintance. But Steve called him Bucky, both the one next to him and the voice in his head, and somehow that was enough to make the name seem like less of a lie.

He started to wonder if he'd been in love with Steve – if he still was – and thought he might have a chance to answer that question if he could remember what love felt like.

Though that particular dilemma never got mentioned to Sam, there were plenty of other things to talk about. The other man had been a soldier, so he understood a lot more than he probably should have, and he'd fought beside Steve when they'd taken down the helicarriers. He couldn't even trust himself, not entirely, but he'd give the benefit of the doubt to anyone who had fought at Steve's side.

There was, however, one small problem.

"I tried to kill you." Bucky leaned forward slightly, gaze locking with Sam's. They were hiding out in Sam's house for a few days – even though his own apartment had been patched up, Steve suspected it was probably still bugged – but Bucky had no intention of sleeping. He remembered what fear felt like, now. "More than once, if you were the man behind a steering wheel I remember ripping out."

Sam looked almost amused. "I was."

"Twice, then." His fingers flexed, itching to do something to quiet the agitation inside him. He felt things constantly now, and on some level it was like living in a war zone when you were used to the silence of the desert. "Why are you being kind to me?"

Sam settled back into his own chair, clearly giving the question some serious thought. Bucky could see the man spiral down through the empty sky, the memory clearer than most of the ones jostling around in his head. He hated it, even more because he had no pictures at all for so many of the stories Steve told him. It was entirely possible he never would.

"I can't even begin to imagine what you've been through, but I've talked to POWs before," Sam said finally, voice quiet. "It's what happens after that matters."

A prisoner of war. He wondered if it might make the memories easier if he could think of them like torture. "That shouldn't be enough."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Well," he said after another moment, gesturing towards the man with his head currently pillowed on Bucky's lap. "There's that."

Bucky didn't know his hand was going to move until it rested against Steve's hair, the compulsion a strange cousin to his killing reflexes. Even with the couch pillow between Steve's head and his lap, he remembered enough to know that this probably shouldn't be happening.

He stroked, gently, feeling the softness of the other man's hair against the skin of his one real palm. "Steve has no sense of self-preservation," he said finally, sure of this despite the gaps.

Sam's smile was wry. "Yeah, I've kind of picked up on that." Then his expression softened. "I also see the way you look at him. It’s like he's home, and you're trying like hell to figure out how to get back to it."

Bucky exhaled. He could think of ten different ways to kill the man sitting across from him, but not one to argue against the words he'd just said. "I'm broken."

"No, you just got lost." Sam stood, heading for the bedroom. On the way by, he patted Bucky's shoulder like he couldn’t feel the metal underneath. "So did he. But now you've both got a real chance of finding your way home."

Then he disappeared, leaving Bucky alone with quiet, steady sound of Steve's breathing. He could almost remember a time when it wasn't – harsh, ragged noises, a hand rubbing a bony back – and he let the images wash over him rather than try to hold on too tight. He'd ask Steve about them in the morning.

For now, though, this new memory was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just so moved by the response to this, guys! Thank you so much!
> 
> Also, I'm taking my first tentative steps onto Tumblr (sadly, I have very little idea what I'm doing). Come say hi at http://sanctuaryforalluniverses.tumblr.com. :D


	3. Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be occasional phonetic Russian swear words from this point out, mixed in with English ones. We know from the movie that they implanted Russian into Bucky's head – probably several languages, IMO – and given the way everything's floating around in there I think it would slip out occasionally. (If anyone can correct/improve me in the realm of phonetic Russian swearing, I would love to hear from you.)

            "It's an elephant." Bucky tossed his duffel bag in the back of the truck, a long-suffering look on his face that Steve literally hadn't seen in decades. It was so wonderfully, achingly familiar that he wanted to grin at the sight of it. "A big, wooden elephant."

            Steve shrugged, letting the grin come. Even with the nightmares, the memories and the government still looking over their shoulders, he swore he'd smiled more in the last week and a half than he had in the entire two years that had come before that. "A big, wooden elephant built in 1881. It'll be good for us to hang out with someone older than we are."

            Bucky rolled his eyes, the corners of his own mouth sneaking upward. "You're such a punk."

            Steve couldn't help himself – his breath caught at the familiar nickname, heart stuttering in his chest. "Jerk," he murmurs, voice rougher than it should have been.

            Bucky's eyes widened. The sight of a memory catching was a new one, but it was one Steve had already learned to read. "We used to do that," Bucky murmured finally, something that might have been wonder in his voice.

            Steve made himself take a deep breath, resting a hand against Bucky's back. The need to touch his best friend, to hold on and never let go, hadn't faded even a little bit since that first wonderful night. Steve was starting to wonder if it meant more than he'd let himself realize, back in the old days.

            But right now... the last thing he wanted to do was complicate Bucky's life any more than it already was. "What do you mean, used to?" Steve kept his voice deliberately light, already starting to pick up a rhythm for navigating Bucky's crazy-quilt memories. "Like you said, I'm still a punk."

            Bucky's lips curved again, faint but definitely real. "Do you even want to see the stupid elephant, or are you just messing with me?"

            "Oh, I definitely want to see the elephant." Steve still hadn't let go, mostly because Bucky hadn't shifted away yet. "I may let you talk me out of the ball of twine, however."

            That surprised a laugh out of Bucky, the sound so sweet that it made Steve's heart ache. Even Sam looked pleasantly surprised as he walked outside to join them. "Don't worry, Bucky," he said easily, glancing over at Steve in a way that suggested his expression was betraying him. Steve scrubbed a hand over his face, forcing his control back. "I snuck the Kansas map out of the stack while he wasn't looking."

            "I owe you." There was still humor in Bucky's face as he shook Sam's hand, shifting enough to use the real one instead of the cybernetic one. "We'll buy a new one at some point that doesn't have the spot where that dumb ball is marked."

            "You really think I can't find it again?" Steve asked, leaning close enough that his own arm pressed against Bucky's metal one. He'd never been good at finding the right words, so he'd do everything else he could to make it clear that the arm was okay. Everything about him was okay. "I'm sure they've got signs all over the place offering directions to such a national treasure."

            "It's probably good I don't remember more about this twine obsession of yours," Bucky shot back, carefully not moving away. Steve hoped that meant the message had been received.

            "He's right, Steve. It's kind of creepy." Sam chuckled as he clasped Steve's hand as well. "Call me if you guys need anything." He glanced back at Bucky, expression serious for a moment. "Anything, okay? My phone line is always open."

            It took a second before Bucky nodded, something in his face relaxing just a little. Steve knew the two of them talked, and had tried to peel himself away from Bucky long enough to give them the opportunity. Of all the things Sam had done for him, Steve was most grateful for that.

            "You, too," he said out loud. "With me and Natasha out of the immediate line of fire, the government might decide to drag you in for one of the hearings."

            "Or HYDRA," Bucky added, voice going cold again.

            Even if he'd wanted to, Steve couldn't have stopped himself from reaching over and smoothing a hand along his best friend's back. "Or HYDRA," he seconded. "If we have to switch phones, we'll make sure you get the new numbers."

            "Absolutely," Sam assured them. "I honestly think I'm a small enough fish they won't bother, but I'm not looking to die a hero. I run into trouble, you two'll be the first to know about it."

            "Good," Bucky said simply, the word warmer despite the promise of violence in it.

            Steve tugged Bucky gently toward the front of the truck. "We should get going," he said simply. "Lucy awaits."

            He smiled when Bucky groaned.


	4. Nightmares

            The Winter Soldier's memories – he hoped like hell they were the Winter Soldier's memories – always hit like a punch. In daylight he could brace himself, at least, lock down and ride through the onslaught, but there was only so long even he could fight exhaustion. When that happened, he was completely defenseless.

            That night he was in Croatia, hurting a 15-year-old kid to get the information he'd needed. Bucky already knew, all too clearly, how the story ended – even though the boy was barely old enough to shave, he was still a loose end – but this time someone much bigger and stronger than the kid grabbed his shoulder. Bucky was almost sick with relief – anything to stop this – but the Winter Soldier immediately snapped into defensive mode and swung his cybernetic arm around to take out the new threat....

            "Bucky!"

            The Winter Soldier didn't care about that voice. But that wasn't who Steve was calling for.

            The nightmare scattered as his eyes snapped open to stare at Steve's worried face. They were both back in the darkened motel room somewhere in the middle of Maryland, pinstripe wallpaper on the walls and the faint smell of pine they'd discovered was coming from the too-strong air freshener in the closet. They'd joked about it.

            Now, though, one of Steve's hands was locked in a death grip around his metal wrist, and Bucky was horrified when he realized what had almost happened. "Steve," he breathed, scrambling into a sitting position when the other man let him go with a gentleness he didn't deserve. "I could have...."

            "You didn't," Steve murmured, once again proving his complete lack of self-preservation by pulling Bucky into his arms. There was no fear in his voice, even though Bucky was almost certain he'd once killed someone with just a punch. "It's okay, Buck. It's okay."

            Bucky stayed frozen, the fear of what he might have done not quite so easy to shake. Despite whatever scraps of warmth and light floated up out of the empty shadows of his brain, the only thing the darkness was certain of was killing. He knew the programming was gone – the pressure in his brain had eased long before the memories had started coming back – but he didn't trust what would happen to Steve if the darkness got him.

            If it did, Bucky wouldn't deserve the mercy of a quick death.

            He pushed Steve away, channeling the anger he felt at himself outward. "It's not okay." Bucky's voice was a rasp, meant to cut, and he forced himself not to turn from the too-familiar hurt he'd seen flash in the other man's eyes. "Dyrmó, if you're always this bad at keeping yourself alive I don't know how you made it this long. If someone tries to kill you, you're supposed to get the _hell_ away from them."

            Steve didn't move, hands still half-raised and a suddenly intent look on his face that Bucky remembered from both recent memory and a dozen half-blurred flashes of the past. Steve searched his face, looking for something, then reached out and oh-so-carefully laid his hands on Bucky's shoulders. "Listen to me," Steve said quietly, his voice as bedrock-certain as it had been that night in the park. "I will regret for the rest of my life that I left you alone in that hell. I am _never_ making that mistake again, no matter what happens."

            Bucky exhaled, feeling fragile and terrified. The idea of a world without Steve Rogers in it felt more empty than his heart had been. "I could kill you." His voice was shaky. "I might not even mean to."

            Steve's expression didn't change. "You had that chance already, and you chose to save me instead." He lifted his hands to Bucky's face, his touch utterly tender. "No matter what happened, no matter what those bastards did to you, there's still no one I'd trust more."

            Bucky closed his eyes, no longer able to stand the sheer faith radiating out of the man who was the center of every good thing in the universe. "You're crazy, you know that?"

            "Yeah." When Steve pulled him into his arms this time, Bucky let himself be gathered close. "I think you've mentioned that, once or twice."

            Bucky pressed his face against Steve's neck, the scent of his skin achingly familiar. He breathed it in, wrapping his own arms around Steve and holding on more tightly than he had any right to.

            Steve's fingers curled in the fabric of his t-shirt, holding on just as hard. "I've got you," he whispered, and for an instant Bucky wasn't sure which of them he was talking to. In the end, it didn't really matter. "I've got you."


	5. Point of View

            "See?" Steve gestured to the view around them, then stuck his hands in his pockets in an attempt to resist the urge to touch. "Totally worth six dollars."

            "I think you're suffering oxygen deprivation from the _immense_ height," Bucky said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. Steve was struck all over again with the memory of their trip to Coney Island. Back then, though, it had been Bucky trying hard to make Steve smile.

            He didn't ask Bucky if he remembered. He'd learned to tell the memories like they were all brand new, and if it made Bucky remember something then he'd either add a detail or ask a question to clarify some flash he didn't understand. If he didn't, then Steve told himself that simply giving Bucky the story was enough.

            "At least our lunch is staying where we put it," he began, not able to stop himself from moving closer to Bucky. Something in his chest constricted when the other man leaned in as well, making their arms touch, and Steve's voice was a little thick as he continued the story. "You dragged me on the Cyclone at Coney Island when we were kids. It was this huge roller coaster, and even though I had my eyes squeezed shut the whole time I still lost the hot dog and soda you bought me. I've never seen anyone look so guilty while having such a hard time trying not to laugh."

            "I can't imagine you scared of anything," Bucky murmured, expression softening as he glanced up at Steve. Then, suddenly, his brow furrowed. "We didn't do it in the winter, did we? I remember hearing myself say something about the Cyclone, but it was cold."

            More than a little confused himself, Steve shook his head. "No, it was—" Then the words died in his throat as his own memory slammed into him, a mountain ledge under his feet and the chill of winter in the air. His best friend by his side for what he had thought for so long was the last time.

            _This isn't payback, is it?_

_Now, why would I do that?_

            "Steve." Bucky's voice, low and urgent, and the warmth of a steadying hand against his back. "Wherever you just went in your head, I need you to get the hell back here."

            Steve blinked, coming back into the moment. "Sorry," he murmured, feeling the heat of embarrassment creeping up his neck. "I didn't mean to do that."

            "I am the last person you ever need to apologize for, especially for getting lost in your own head." Bucky rubbed soothing circles against his back, the rhythm so familiar Steve could feel the echo of it in his bones. "I just didn't like the look on your face, is all."

            Steve let out a breath. "You were remembering a time when we talked about the Coney Island visit," he explained. "During the war. It was winter, then."

            Bucky shot him the same look he used to when Steve tried to say he was feeling better. "Let me guess. We were a few second away from certain death?"

            It was too close to the truth, and Steve's fingers curled as he tried to figure out an answer that wouldn't rip him. Before he could, there was a sharp, explosive sound from the parking lot, and suddenly Bucky was pushing Steve down and reached for a sidearm that was no longer there. He froze an instant later, horror flooding his face, and Steve pulled Bucky into another hug without bothering to think about the reaction of the other tourists.

            Not that he cared. He would never be ashamed of getting to be the one standing next to Bucky.

            "Never let me carry a weapon," Bucky muttered against Steve's shirt, the words harsh with self-anger. "I could have killed someone over a chertov car backfiring."

            "But you didn't," Steve soothed, pulling back only far enough to meet Bucky's eyes. "Not to mention the fact that you were trying to get me out of the line of fire."

            Bucky's eyes widened, as if he hadn't realized that, but before either of them could comment an older woman came over and lightly touched Bucky on the arm. "Are you alright, young man?"

            Bucky looked embarrassed, his jaw tightening as he pulled away from Steve. "Yeah. Sorry."

            "Don't be." She squeezed his arm. "I was a nurse in Vietnam. Combat flashbacks are nothing to be ashamed of." Then she flashed them both a smile. "I'm just glad you clearly had someone to come home to."

            Serenely, she returned to her husband, leaving both of them staring after her. Bucky glanced up at Steve. "You know she thinks we're—"

            "It's okay." Steve cut him off, hand already migrating to Bucky's back again. He wouldn't mind if the entire world thought they were dating, but he was pretty sure it wasn't safe to actually admit that out loud. "Thanks for being here."

            Bucky looked up at him like he was nuts, but at Steve's smile he just sighed and leaned in close. "You stole my line."


	6. A Familiar Taste

            They avoided New York by mutual unspoken agreement. Bucky was grateful – the idea of seeing his parents' graves and _not_ remembering was somehow more frightening than any pain would have been. As they crossed the border, Bucky said "thank you" without explaining why. Steve just smiled like he understood.

            Hershey's Chocolate World was like being trapped in one of those concessions cartoons they used to run before movies, but the look on Steve's face as he took his first bite of one of their sundaes made up for a lot of suffering. His eyes were closed, lips pressed together like he was trying to hold onto the taste for just a little bit longer, and Bucky was blindsided by the sudden urge to lean across the table and steal his own taste out of Steve's mouth.

            When Steve opened his eyes, he picked up just enough of Bucky's internal struggle to misinterpret it. "Is it all the people?" he asked quietly, already half standing. "We can go."

            Bucky hated the way the worry had chased the pleasure off Steve's face, hated the way he suspected he didn't have the right to feel the low burn of want inside his gut for the man sitting across from him. "It's fine." His voice was rough as he tugged Steve back into his seat. "Finish your ice cream."

            "I don't have to." Steve still didn't move, all of his attention focused on Bucky. It didn't help matters in the slightest.

            Bucky didn't have time to think before reflex kicked in, lifting the spoon out of his own ice cream and smearing a long streak of chocolate down the bridge of his nose. Steve froze for a second, clearly shocked, and Bucky gaped as he realized what he'd just done.

            Then Steve laughed, the light of it blinding enough to distract as he plucked the cherry off the top of his sundae and flung it directly at Bucky's forehead. It ricocheted off with a quiet plopping sound, and Bucky felt the corners of his own mouth start to sneak upward.

            The tiny eating area was jam-packed – its own kind of camouflage, when you didn't leave bodies and flames in your wake – but a few of the tourists at the tables closest to theirs where already starting to stare. The two employees were already behind the counter, a position with terrible line of sight and a literal wall of bodies between there and here, but the clerk at the gift shop next door could see them if she stood at exactly the right angle.

            Fishing out a chocolate chip, Bucky took aim and hit Steve square on the nose.

            Ten minutes later, both of them ducked out of the eating area under the glare of a very annoyed security guard. On the way out, Bucky heard a kid say "Wait, isn't that—" before his mother shushed him and they disappeared from view.

            "Maybe we should have stayed and cleaned up." The chuckle in Steve's voice made the words sound less guilty than they might have.

            "I think they wanted the potential embarrassments out of their place more than they wanted the help." Bucky felt his own smile as he wiped the vanilla ice cream off his face. "Besides, any longer and someone in there would have recognized you."

            Steve picked a chocolate chip out of his hair, popping it into his mouth. "I wouldn't have cared." The words were easy, unconcerned, and there was soft pleasure in his eyes as he glanced over at Bucky. "I think we were 12 the last time we had a food fight. Your mom just about killed us."

            Bucky had a vague memory of something wet and green plastered against his neck, delighted by the sound of Steve's laughter in his ears. Even back then, he considered making Steve laugh to be one of his greatest accomplishments. He had to be careful, though, because if it turned into a wheeze then the joy drained right out of it.

            Bucky cleared his throat, the memory of a fragile-looking little boy surprisingly clear in his thoughts. "Did I ever ask why you did it?"

            Steve raised an eyebrow. "You're the one who started the food fight."

            "Not that." He was probably going to steal the pleasure off of Steve's face again – the want whispered, telling him he could figure out how to give it back a thousand times over – but he hated this particular gap in his memory more than all the others. "The Super Soldier Serum. Becoming Captain America." He ducked his head. "If I've asked before, I don't remember."

            Steve blinked, clearly thrown by the question. "I ...." He stopped, shaking his head as if deciding the rest of the sentence was unacceptable, then shrugged. "I wanted to be more than I was."

            Bucky felt oddly angry at that. "Who you were was fine," he snapped.

            Steve's expression went still for a moment, then softened with something like fondness. "You can't protect me from reality, Buck. I know better than anyone how much of a walking toothpick I was."

            "You were—" _My entire world_. The words caught in his throat, and Bucky realized with something close to astonishment that they were true. He'd wondered before if his current obsession was a side effect of his broken brain, but there wasn't a memory in Bucky's head where Steve didn't feel like the most precious thing in it. Small or big, then or now, Steve Rogers had always been the center of James Buchanan Barnes's universe.

            The realization left Bucky reeling. He guessed that answered the question of whether or not he was in love.


	7. Greedy

            Bucky finally let Steve cut his hair in Ohio, using scissors borrowed from the front desk of the little motel they were staying at. Steve's fingers lingered a bit too long as he brushed the hairs from the back of Bucky's neck – not nearly as long as he would have liked them to – and felt almost grateful the need to touch hadn't been nearly so desperate the last time he'd done this.

            He'd started trying harder to control his hands, not able to stop himself from reaching out but paying closer attention to how long he let himself hold on. Bucky hadn't seemed to notice the way Steve wasn't able to let go of him – he had bigger things to worry about – but the time would come when he'd start picking up on it. When that happened ... well, Steve usually only got lucky at the worst possible moments.

            Besides, he had Bucky back. It would be greedy to ask for more....

            Steve shook the thought away when Bucky looked up from his Village Inn menu the following morning, wearing that little amused smile Steve had always loved so much. "I still think they should have named it something other than pico de gallo."

            Steve smiled back at him. "Most people don't know it means rooster's beak, Buck."

            "People who speak Spanish do. And I bet they make fun of everyone who eats it." Bucky set the menu down, taking a sip of his coffee as he leaned across the table. "Big-eyed eight year old on your six," he murmured. "Either she's working up the courage to ask if you really are Captain America or she's waiting for your head to explode."

            Steve turned his head just enough to see the girl out of the corner of his eye. She was indeed staring at him, almost glowing with hero worship, and the moment their eyes met she practically jumped out of her padded booth. Her mom reached out a hand to stop her, looking alarmed, but after a frantically whispered conversation both mother and daughter were looking avidly in his direction. A younger boy one table over suddenly perked up, clearly having overheard the conversation.

            "And that's my cue to find something else to do for the next few minutes," Bucky said quietly, lips still curved upward in a slight smile. If Steve had been feeling a little braver, he'd say the expression looked almost proud. "Wouldn't want to get in the way of your adoring fans."

            When Bucky moved to stand, Steve reached over and grabbed his hand. "You can stay, you know." He didn't know if it was an offer or a plea. "You're just as much of a hero as I am."

            Bucky's expression darkened for a moment, then he flashed Steve a look that managed to be both affectionate and seriously question Steve's sanity. "I worry about you, sometimes." He leaned forward slightly, then caught himself and pulled away completely. "Your adoring crowds await."

            The children arrived just as Bucky stepped away, siblings and parents in tow. Steve smiled at everyone, posed for pictures, and signed a mix of napkins, brochures and a kid's coloring book. When they left a couple an older couple appeared behind them, and he shook their hands, posed for another picture, and listened to them talk about the good old days for a few minutes.

            The entire time, though, his attention was on Bucky. He was leaning over the pie counter at the front of the restaurant, chatting with the sweet little brunette at the cash register, and from the way the young lady was batting her eyelashes Steve could only imagine the lines Bucky was spouting. He'd always been good at getting girls’ attention, and it shouldn't be a surprise that at least some of that had managed to survive everything that happened to him.

            Jealousy was a cold, all-too-familiar weight in Steve's gut.

            Finally, the crowd disappeared, and Steve headed over to the pie counter with some half-formed plan to ask about the specials. Before he could, Bucky headed back towards him, and after a moment of hesitation Steve changed direction rather than spend more time away from Bucky.

            Still, he had the grace to be embarrassed as they slid back into the booth. “She seems nice,” he tried, every ounce of his self-control focused on keeping the blush off his face.

            Bucky’s expression went absolutely blank, which in Steve’s eyes was so much worse than the darkness. “She was.”

            Steve cleared his throat, wishing he’d never opened his mouth. “You could… If you wanted…” He wrapped his fingers around his cup to keep them from something stupid. “I wouldn’t mind.”

            Lies, all lies. But he’d tell a thousand of them if it was what Bucky needed.

            The other man’s expression didn’t change. “Is that what you want?” he asked quietly, no inflection in his voice. “Am I keeping you from some of your older adoring fans?”

            “No.” The word was just a little too loud, and out just a little too fast, to not have betrayed him at least a little. Steve felt his fingers tighten on the cup, and he quickly let go before he embarrassed himself more by breaking it. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”

            Bucky let out a breath, the blankness on his face melting away to his usual relaxed expression. “Good.” He picked up his menu. “Now explain everyone’s obsession with yogurt to me.”

            Steve smiled, the tightness in his chest unwinding. “Can’t help you there.”


	8. Dreams

            It was a little easier to sleep in daylight, when the only shadows were in his head and he could make sure Steve was always within reach. At the moment they were in a roadside park, sandwich wrappers neatly tucked into a garbage bag and the knuckles of Bucky's real hand resting against Steve's leg. A cybernetic arm made a lousy pillow, but no matter what Steve had said – or not said – he didn't like touching him with it.

            Stretched out on the grass, the shade of a tree guarding them, Bucky dreamed only of the smell of soup and the sound of a woman's voice humming as she stirred. He drifted up out of a half-sleep, feeling warm and safe in a way he hadn't imagined he was capable of, and heard the faint sounds of pencil scratching on paper.

            He opened his eyes, looking up and behind him just a little to see Steve bent over his sketchbook, a small smile of contentment on his face. Sometimes it seemed as though Steve was never without it, the new images blending into the old so effortlessly that Bucky could hardly tell them apart, some days.

            Steve had shown him a few of them – the elephant from New Jersey, the robot from Ohio – but not nearly enough to account for the time he spent drawing. Bucky had thought about asking to see the rest, but a part of him wondered if he had the right anymore.

            _You always saw all my stuff, even if no one else did._

"Hey." He tapped Steve's leg. "Please tell me you're not actually drawing the sundial." The giant lady's leg sundial was one of the more ridiculously garish things they'd run across on their trip, but the blush it had gotten out of Steve had made it all worth it.

            "I have to." The corner of his best friend's mouth curved even further upward, the one with just the barest edge of a smirk in it. "Someone has to correct the anatomy."

            Bucky shoved at his leg, and the smirk melted into that grin that could stop Bucky's heart if he wasn't careful. He pushed himself into a sitting position to keep himself from doing something dangerous, like touching. "Okay, then, you have to let...."

            The words trailed off as he caught sight of the sketch Steve was working on.

            Steve still didn't look up from his drawing, but the pencil had slowed down. "I've drawn you for years," he said quietly, and Bucky almost thought he could hear something more than a simple explanation in the words.

            "I remember." His voice was scratchy, and he cleared his throat as he moved to sit next to Steve. "I hated sitting still."

            "Which is why you're asleep in a lot of them." Steve expression was wry. "It got easier when I could draw you from memory."

            Bucky stared at the pencil lines of his sleeping face, so much softer and kinder than the one he saw in the mirror. "I could sit for you now," he started, his voice sounding oddly far away to his ears. "I'm better at being still."

            Steve looked up at that, searching Bucky's face for something. Then he flipped back the previous page, showing a sketch of Bucky staring out the passenger window of the truck. On the page before that he was asleep again, metal arm glinting and the blanket tangled around his legs.

            "Sorry," Steve said quietly, though Bucky couldn't think of a single thing he should be apologizing for. "I just ... missed drawing you."

            Bucky lifted his head to look at Steve, hating the sadness in his eyes. "You never have to apologize to me."

            Steve kept his own head down, eyes on the picture. "I could have." He let out a long, unsteady breath. "I could see you more clearly than either Peggy or the Commandos, and I have sketches of all of them from the last few years. But every time I tried...." He closed his eyes. "There was this gaping hole inside me, where you were supposed to be. Just thinking about it was like a knife in the gut."

            Bucky couldn't take it anymore. He dragged Steve into a hug, the same one they used to comfort each other after nightmares. "Come back." His voice was rough, the words caught somewhere between an order and a plea. "I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere, so get the hell out of wherever you are and come back to me."

            Steve tightened his arms around Bucky once, hard, before pulling away enough to meet his eyes. "Sorry." He smiled a little, embarrassed. "I'm back."

            The pressure in Bucky's chest was tight enough that he was amazed there was room for oxygen in his lungs. "Now _stay_."

            Something flashed in Steve's eyes, and if Bucky were a braver man he would have called it hope. "How long?" he whispered.

            Bucky swallowed. "As long as you'll have me."

            Steve's eyes lit, bright enough to outshine the sunlight, and after that it was impossible to tell who moved first. The kiss was gentle, barely a chance to get a taste, but it shook Bucky down to the depths of what was left of his soul.

            When they broke apart, Steve lifted a hand to cradle the side of his face. "So forever, then," he murmured, sounding so happy that Bucky could almost feel it like a touch.

            His metal fingers curled in the fabric of Steve's shirt. After everything he'd seen, everything he'd done, only a fool would believe that he could hold onto something this wonderful forever.

            For Steve, he was more than willing to be a fool.

            "Works for me," he breathed, leaning forward for another kiss.


	9. Scars

            They went slow.

            Steve wasn't dead, true. But his previous experience had stopped firmly at the door, which was not nearly as far along as he wanted to be now. As for Bucky, the gaps in his memory weren’t so much the problem as the fact that he was still afraid the Winter Soldier’s muscle memory would crop up if he felt restrained or lost too much control. On top of that, he wasn’t nearly as comfortable with his body as he’d once been.

            Steve didn't mind. Even if they had to learn the steps together, he'd finally found the right dance partner. When something mattered this much, it was worth taking the time to do it properly.

000

            "You know," Steve managed, the words and his breathing already a little ragged. "You never told me necking was this much fun."

            "Don't remember it _being_ this much fun," Bucky murmured, grinning against Steve's skin. "'Course, that might just be me."

            Steve filed the joke away, grateful that they had gotten to the point where such a thing was possible. Then Bucky trailed a long, wet line of kisses up Steve's throat, the pressure and heat of it making his thoughts skip like a scratched record. "If we'd done this," he murmured, fingers curling in the fabric of Bucky's t-shirt, "you'd have remembered."

            "Oh, absolutely," Bucky breathed, lips ghosting over a spot just behind Steve's jaw that turned out to be a lot more sensitive than Steve had ever imagined. Nerves all over his body shot off like rockets, and if this was the pre-show he could only imagine what the full fireworks display would be like.

            He needed skin, not clothing. Steve's hand moved up to Bucky's neck, fingers digging underneath the edge of the t-shirt and spreading out wide, when his thumb brushed against the edge of ridged scar tissue. Bucky jerked, pulling away slightly, and Steve carefully slid his hand free.

            Bucky closed his eyes, feeling embarrassed. "Sorry."

            "Hey." Steve moved his hand to cradle the side of Bucky's face, thumb stroking lightly over the curve of his cheek. When Bucky opened his eyes, Steve gave him a soft smile. "You're the one who said we don't need to apologize to each other."

            The corner of Bucky's lips curved upward, a thank you and another apology in the same small movement. "I'll have to let you see it eventually."

            "Yes, you will," Steve said quietly, pressing a kiss against his jaw. "I'm planning on drawing you naked."

            Bucky huffed out a laugh. "Only if you're naked too."

            "Done." He smoothed a hand down Bucky's back. "I promise you, there's not a part of you I don't want."

            Bucky took a deep breath at that, pushing himself off of Steve and sitting back on his heels. "You sure about that?" he asked, a little of his old bravado threading through the nerves he was trying to hide.

            Steve sat up, expression as solemn as the moment demanded. "Absolutely."

            "Okay, then." Bucky pulled the t-shirt up and over his head in one smooth move, dropping it on the floor next to the bed. Then he set his hands on his thighs, bracing himself like he was waiting for a punch.

            Steve didn't breathe as he reached out, tracing his fingers lightly over the ridge of scar tissue where the cybernetic arm joined into Bucky's body. His heart threatened to break every time he let himself think about what his best friend went through, what Steve had left him to go through, but that wasn't what Bucky needed right now.

            No, what he needed right now was proof that Steve could look at him with something other than grief and regret.

            He leaned forward, placing a line of soft kisses against that same ridge of scar tissue, nuzzling his cheek against metal and skin without caring where the boundary was because it was all the man he loved. He felt the breath go out of Bucky's lungs in a rush, real fingers curling around the back of Steve's head to tunnel through his hair. Steve flattened his hand against Bucky's bare back, reveling in the feel of hot skin under his hands.

            Bucky's metal hand floundered in midair for a moment, still afraid to touch. Steve caught it, pulling back just enough to press a kiss against the inside of the metal wrist. He knew Bucky couldn’t feel much more than pressure – they'd talked about it, long before they'd admitted how they felt – but it was a benediction as much as anything.

            Bucky made a helpless noise, low in his throat, and tugged Steve's head up for another kiss. Steve pulled him closer, shifting him onto his lap and letting his hands smooth up and down the planes of muscle that were both brand-new but somehow familiar.

            When they broke apart, Bucky stared down at him with wild eyes. "I'll remember this," he whispered, the words fierce as a promise.

            His chest was so tight with emotion there was no room in there for oxygen. "So will I," he murmured, pulling him down for another kiss.


	10. Seeing You

            Late night television wasn’t the greatest, but a motel in the middle of nowhere, Missouri, didn’t offer a lot of other options at one in the morning. The original "Superman" had been on Steve's "future things to do" list, and when it had come on it had seemed harmless to watch it. Bucky vaguely remembered the comics – at least, he was pretty sure he did – and he enjoyed being there while Steve crossed things off his list. Besides, it was a superhero movie, and he was in love with a real-life superhero. How bad could it be?

            Then he met Lois Lane, the stupidest reporter in the entire history of the profession.

            "Seriously? She's less than a foot away from him," Bucky complained, leaning back against the headboard. "Unless they're _magical_ glasses—"

            "There might be actual magical glasses," Steve interrupted, amused. "We'd have to ask Thor, and as far as I know he went back to Asgard after the whole mess in London." He was sprawled over a good portion of the bed, head in Bucky's lap and a small smile on his face that suggested he'd be content to stay where he was forever.

            It was a beautiful sight, and Bucky was suddenly hard-pressed to remember why he'd been so annoyed a second ago. "From what you've told me, their people don't seem like the type to go for glasses." He kept his metal hand braced to the side, letting his real fingers play in the soft strands of Steve's hair. "You can't really smash or blow up anything with them."

            "True." Steve rubbed his hand along Bucky's denim-clad leg. "Though never tell Stark that."

            "I'm going to have to meet these friends of yours, one of these days," Bucky murmured, not sure if he was pleased or terrified by the prospect. Steve never seemed to have a problem with him just the way it was, gaps, edges and all, and Sam knew enough vets not to be surprised. Anyone else, though, and he wasn't sure how successfully he could pretend to be normal.

            And if he failed, Steve would suffer the fallout.

            Unaware of his train of thought, Steve squeezed his leg. "We'll figure it out."

            Onscreen, Lois was now interviewing Superman, still completely clueless, and Bucky found himself remembering why he'd been so annoyed. "If this Clark guy doesn't drop her off a building by the time this is done, I am going to be sorely disappointed in this film."

            Steve chuckled. "I'm pretty sure you're destined to be disappointed."

            "At least tell me he stops mooning after her, then." Bucky shook his head. "She's clearly not worth his time if she can't even recognize him when he takes his glasses off."

            "Maybe he likes the way she looks at him when she thinks he's Superman," Steve said after a moment, the ruefulness in his voice a little too close to genuine sadness.

            Bucky felt a stab of jealousy, and the embarrassing thing was that he wasn't entirely certain who it should even be aimed at. "So that's the real answer, isn't it?" He made sure to keep his voice light. "The reason you became Captain America was so that you could pick up women."

            Steve chuckled. "You found me out." Then his smile turned just a touch wistful as he looked up to meet Bucky's eyes. "You're the only one who didn't look at me any different."

            "Of course not." Bucky's brow furrowed. He still didn't have all his memories from that time, but he remembered enough to be certain of one thing. "It's not like I could have loved you any more than I already did."

            Steve's eyes widened at that, his sudden exhale sharp enough to suggest there was no longer any air in his lungs. "What?"

            Not sure what he'd just done, Bucky went absolutely still. "That depends on what part of that surprised you," he said finally, voice careful.

            Steve hurriedly pushed himself upward into a sitting position, the hope shining out of his face so brightly it was almost blinding. "You really remember feeling that way before?"

            Bucky looked into his eyes, wondering how the old him could have ever kept something like that to himself. If he ever could have imagined something like this would be waiting for him. "Well enough."

            Steve swallowed, the words still rough with emotion. "You ... really feel that way now?" 

            Bucky's chest caught as he reached up to touch Steve's face. "Every memory I've got, then or now, you're the best thing in it," he murmured. "So yeah."

             "Oh, Buck...." Steve breathed, and it would have taken a far stronger man to resist the wonder on his face. He leaned in for a kiss, pouring out all the tenderness in his heart, and as Steve's fingers curled around his neck Bucky was grateful the universe wasn't at all fair. There was no way he deserved any of this.

            When they broke apart, Steve leaned his forehead against Bucky's. "I love you, too," he murmured, the entire world in his eyes.

            Bucky couldn't breathe, but right then he didn't mind in the slightest. As he moved in for another kiss, all he could think was that he had lucked out so much more than Clark Kent could ever dream of.


	11. Waking Up

            He dreamed of the ice again. When he was awake, Steve always kicked himself for this particular nightmare – he’d lost consciousness the moment of the crash, and hadn’t regained it until SHIELD had dragged him back to New York. He was, essentially, imagining the freezing, and after all the terrible things he’d actually _seen_ it seemed so petty that his brain would choose this to focus on.

            When he was in it, though, all he could feel was the cold. It sank into him, turning his insides into a block of ice no different than the one pressing against him on all sides. He couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe, but unconsciousness and even numbness eluded him. His brain made sure he was awake for every second of the pain….

            “Steve.” The sudden heat on his arm was like a miracle. “Damn it, Steve. Wake up.”

            The ice melted away, and Steve sucked in a lungful of air as he opened his eyes to stare up at Bucky’s worried face. When he saw Steve’s eyes focus on him, the other man let out his own breath. “I'd still rather be the one having these chertov things.”

            Without a word, Steve reached up and pulled his best friend down into his arms. Bucky let himself be pulled, rolling them both sideways so he could get a better hold, and Steve closed his eyes and let the warmth soak into him. Slowly, the tension eased out of his muscles.

            When it had, he felt Bucky smile a little against his skin. “Who knew the great Captain America was a cuddler?”

            The corners of Steve’s own mouth snuck upward. “Only you, jerk.” He loosened his grip a little, and it was only when Bucky propped himself up on one elbow that Steve realized the other man hadn’t been on his side of the bed. He instantly sobered. “I told you I didn’t care if you woke me up,” he said softly.

            The nightmares had lessened for both of them since they’d started sleeping tangled around each other, but the only place love immediately fixed everything was in fairy tales. If the nightmare wasn't violent enough to wake Steve up – a huge sign of progress all on its own – Bucky stubbornly insisted on slipping out of bed so his restlessness wouldn't finish the job.

            Now, he raised an eyebrow. "And I keep ignoring you, because _someone_ has to take care of you. You're lousy at it."

            “All part of my secret plot.” Despite the familiar exchange, Steve’s expression was serious as he stroked a hand up the arm Bucky could feel. “I mean it, though. I like any reminder that you’re still here.”

            He curled his fingers around the back of his best friend’s head, nudging him downward for a slow, gentle kiss. Bucky was the one who deepened it, desperate and tender, and Steve felt the heat of it seep through every inch of his body. He could feel the blood thrumming underneath his skin, moving in time to a heartbeat that wasn't his own.

            When they broke the kiss, Bucky pulled back just far enough to look down at him. "You could have anyone," he murmured, something fragile in his expression. "And you pick a killer with a broken brain."

            "Don't talk about yourself like that." Steve’s hands cradled the sides of Bucky's face. He knew his voice wasn't steady, but it didn't matter. He'd never had to hide anything from his best friend. "Bucky Barnes is the only reason a skinny little punk named Steve Rogers decided it was worth it to wake up, some mornings. He happens to mean a lot to me."

            Bucky let out a shaky breath. "That skinny little punk means a lot to him, too. No matter how big he's gotten."

            "I know." Steve smiled, his eyes wet. "Makes it a hell of a lot easier to wake up in the morning."

            Bucky's own eyes were damp as he brushed his lips along Steve's skin. "I love you so damn much it scares me," he murmured against his mouth.

            "I love you, too." Steve closed his eyes as they lost themselves in another kiss. In moments like this, he could imagine he'd never be cold again. "But it's the one thing that's never scared me at all."


	12. Over and Over Again

             "Behold." Steve spread his arms out with a flourish, echoing some half-remembered image tickling at the back of Bucky's brain. He didn't chase it, preferring to focus on the man standing next to him. "The magnificence of twine."

            "I'm in awe," Bucky said evenly, his arm pressed up tight against Steve's.

            Steve glanced over at him. clearly waiting for something. "I could wax poetic about the hard work and team spirit that went into its creation."

            "Oh, please do." He still couldn't get all the shades out of his voice Steve could, subtleties of emotion that he wondered if he'd forgotten along with everything else. But there was a particularly awestruck fan who found Steve in St. Louis, and if he mimicked her he thought he might just about have it. "Share with me all your insights about the majestic national treasure standing before us."

            There was a heartbeat of silence before Steve burst out laughing, throwing his head back and looking so absolutely beautiful that Bucky couldn't breathe for a second. "Okay, okay. You win." He shook his head, still chuckling. "It looks like a gigantic cat toy."

            "It'd have to be a 40-foot tall cat." Bucky felt himself smile. "Maybe Captain America would have to battle it, save the poor dairy farmers."

            Steve grinned. "I think you mean Captain America and his faithful partner, Mr. Codename To Be Named Later."

            What Bucky didn't remember about Steve, he'd been careful to learn. Right then, he swore he could hear a question beneath the joke. "You mean that." The words were serious as he turned to look at the man he'd crawled back into humanity to be with. "You really want me fighting next to you."

            Steve's smile softened. "I always want you next to me, Buck."

            It was easy to let Steve distract him, to wrap him up in so much warmth that the terrified faces of the people he had killed were pushed aside, ghosts flickering at the edges of his shattered memory. Loving Steve was the greatest thing that could have possibly happened to Bucky, and he was sure the old him would have agreed completely.

            But that didn't mean he ever forgot who he was now.

            "I'm a killer." His voice was flat. "You're a hero."

            Steve's expression turned solemn. "Sometimes, all being a hero means is killing the right people," he said finally, voice quiet.

            Bucky watched Steve's face, realizing that there was something beneath these words as well. This time, though, he couldn't quite read the meaning. "What are you saying?"

            Steve met his eyes. "That nothing you've got in there's gonna scare me away."

            Bucky's chest caught. He had to look away, blinking hard. "Disappoint you, then." His voice was scratchy. "I don't ... I don't see how what's left of me could be enough. And it'll kill me when you wake up one day and realize that."

            He squeezed his eyes shut when he felt Steve's hand slide into the pocket of his hoodie, threading their fingers together. Bucky held on tight.

            Steve was the one to break the silence. "You weren't the same after I rescued you from the weapons factory." The words were quiet, but each one was heavy with emotion. "Where you'd used to grin, you usually wouldn't get much more than the corners of your mouth turning up. And you'd get these ... shadows in your eyes. Even when we were joking around, it was like part of your head wasn't really there with the rest of us."

            Bucky opened his eyes, letting out a shaky breath. "So you've been losing me for a long time."

            "No." Oh, the conviction Steve could put into one little word. "Because it didn't _matter_. I loved that Bucky just as much as I did the one I grew up with in Brooklyn. And I love the man standing next to me now just as much as I did the other two."

            Bucky swallowed, turning to look at him. "I don't deserve you."

            "Too bad, because you're stuck with me." Steve squeezed his hand, his own eyes wet. "And I'll keep telling you that, over and over again, until you believe it."

            Bucky let the words soak into the cracks inside him, holding them together stronger than any glue. "You might have to do it a few more times," he said finally, the corners of his mouth curving upward. "Seems I'm kinda slow."

            Steve grinned, bright and beautiful. "Yeah, I noticed."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm even more moved by all of your responses to this fic than I was back in chapter 2. Once again, thank you so much for your support - if I could go around and hug each and every one of you, I would. 
> 
> If you're interested, you can come check out my weekly posts and original short fiction on my [blog](http://jennifferwardell.blogspot.com) or say hi to me on [Tumblr](http://sanctuaryforalluniverses.tumblr.com)!


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